Of Fur and Ice

by Andrea Marie Brokaw

  “Freaky?” I gasp, shocked. “It's the most gorgeous hair I've ever seen.”

  Okay, I so did not mean to blurt that. But, my God, how could anyone think it's freaky?

  Still not in possession of good sense, I reach out to touch it. It's warm and soft and so very, very inviting.

  His breath catches.

  His hand folds gently around my wrist, pulling my fingers from his hair. “To touch someone's pelt is a highly intimate thing.” His voice is a gentle caress, highlighting the intimacy.

  Instantly, my cheeks start to overheat.

  “I...” I stammer. “I didn't...”

  “I know.” He flashes me a smile and flings himself into a chair. Lounging easily, he nudges the plate of brownies towards me. “Hungry?”

  My hand darts out to grab a brownie, shoving it towards my face to give me an excuse not to talk for a while. I sit across from Seth, trying not to stare at his hair or his eyes or his... well, anything belonging to his person.

  Shifting to sit up straighter, he makes an interested grunt. “Warren's going to do the half-pipe.” He flashes me a quick grin that makes something inside me roll over in submission. “He's better than me when he's on skis. And on his board... If the elders would let us draw attention to ourselves by competing, that wolf would have an Olympic medal.”

  Intrigued by this praise despite Warren not being terribly friendly to me, and disregarding that I've never seen the appeal of doing the sort of things that make the X-Games, I grab my mug in both hands and look out the window again. Anyway, it gives me something to gawk at besides Seth.

  I don't know the names for any of the jumps and spins and twists and turns Warren makes, but I do know enough to be very, very impressed. And if I didn't, the a crowd gathering near the window to watch him might be a tip off, as would the applause he receives at the end.

  Unstrapping his board, he stands it upright and leans on it, shaking his head at something one of the people near him says.

  And then he looks at me.

  No, he's not looking at the café or the window or the people up here who haven't drifted away yet. He's looking right at me.

  Then he glances toward Seth. Then he looks at me again. And he turns abruptly, stalking off toward the lift to the more difficult terrain at the top of the mountain.

  “Well, hello,” says a new voice, not very nicely. The room falls into an unnatural silence while people poke each other and point out the pretty blonde glowering at me. They meander back to their seats, watching us while trying not to look like they're doing it.

  “Simone.” Seth smiles at the girl. It's not the smile he's been giving to me, but a strained and thin corruption of that smile. “How's the backside?”

  “About to be contaminated by wolves.”

  Looking at me, Seth sighs softly. “Mike, this is Simone.” He doesn't sound particularly thrilled to be introducing us. “And here comes Amber and Katerina. Rina's the other blonde.”

  None of the girls so much as glance at me. “We're ready to go, Seth,” Simone whines. The other two come up behind her and nod. I catch both of them looking at me for a second, but then they immediately look away again like people under orders to ignore me. The blonde is noticeably shorter than Simone, but her hair style and fashion sense seem identical except for the fact that she's one of the few weres I've seen in glasses. The third girl, Amber, is taller than the other two and has short black hair that is spiking up in a disheveled punk sort of way. “Too bad there's no room in the car for your new friend.”

  “That's alright,” I say calmly, smiling sweetly at Seth. “I'm not ready to leave yet anyway.”

  He shifts, uncomfortable.

  “Come on, Seth.”

  The girls walk away, the shorter blonde glancing back for half a heartbeat.

  “Um...” His gorgeous eyes are filled with an adorable form of uncertainty.

  “Thank you for everything.” I give him a soft smile. “For saving my skis and all. I don't know if I would have found Claire before giving up if you hadn't been there. And thanks for the coffee.”

  He looks at me as I raise my cup toward him. “I'm really sorry.”

  And he does seem miserably apologetic.

  “It's okay,” I assure him.

  He shakes his head. “No, not really.”

  But he gets up and puts his coat on.

  “It's just the girls, they're...” Letting out a heavy sigh, he shakes his head. “Well, they're complete bitches.”

  With a rushed, “See you later,” he runs away.

  Sipping the last of my mocha, I gaze at the spot now so painfully devoid of Seth. Should I be worried about him? I know we just met and all, but I like him. A lot. And for reasons other than his incredible eyes and amazing hair and breathtaking laugh. But he's not happy. And who could be happy being bossed around by people like Simone all the time? Why put up with that?

  The guys I've met here really don't seem to respond to events like normal people do. A normal person in Seth's position would tell those girls where to take themselves, wouldn't he? And what about Tod? Who in the real world would let a girl treat him the way Tod's girlfriend abuses him? He tried to explain to me that it isn't her fault she can't stand being in a relationship for more than three weeks in a row. He says it's a fox thing. So maybe Seth's problem is a leopard thing. But, it doesn't seem right. We may turn into animals once a month, but we're not those animals all of the time.

  Are we?

  “So.” Tod plops himself in Seth's seat. “I guess he thought you smelled like a leopard then?”

  “What?” I pull myself out of my thoughts to squint at the fox. “What makes you think he thought I was a leopard?”

  He shrugs. “I doubt he'd risk the wrath of his harem being nice to you if he thought you were, say, a vixen.”

  My head shakes as I think about that. “So I smell foxy to you?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He draws out the words, and his voice drops significantly.

  I hide behind my coffee, hoping I'm not blushing.

  “Everyone seems to think you smell like whatever they are,” he goes on quickly. “Except the girls.”

  “Yeah,” I agree, “they just think I stink.”

  He laughs. “They do not. They just don't have any idea what you are.”

  “You have a theory?” I wait expectantly.

  “I look like I have a theory?” His head tilts playfully to the side.

  I grin. “Yes, you look like you have a theory.”

  “Not yet, but I'm working on one.” He looks out the window, and I notice the tips of his ears turning a shade more pink. “It has something to do with mating.”

  Coughing overtakes me. “What?” I squeak.

  “Interspecies couples exist, but they're rare and are hardly ever fertile.”

  Breathing deeply, I try to act like a mature person. “But what's the point in making people think they can breed with me if they can't?”

  “I don't know.” He shrugs sheepishly. “That's what I'm stuck on.” Laughing softly at himself, he offers me a small smile. “The other option is this is normal and all converted weres go through it. Seems like that would be documented though.”

  Yeah, it does. And Mr. Atherton's confused by me, so the answer can't be so easy.

  I'm about to mention this when I realize something is very wrong with Tod. He's glaring at the table, a low growl rumbling in his throat. “What is it?” I gasp, but he just shakes his head at me.

  Staring at him and wishing I had some idea of what I should be doing, I bite on my lip and wait, slowly letting the tension out of my shoulders as his growl turns to a hum. “Sorry,” he says at last, a quiet mumble that sounds a lot like a continuation of the humming. He looks up, tears glistening unshed in his eyes, and tries to smile. “That's Lyly over there. With some human.”

  Feeling rather like growling myself, I turn to look where he's indicating. The human, a male of roughly collegiate age, beams merrily at a slender gi
rl with pixie cut white hair and tight fitting jeans. She is possibly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in real life.

  “Shit,” I hear myself whisper. “She's gorgeous.”

  “Yes.”

  The word is filled with longing and hurt, and it makes me remember to hate her.

  At least the mystery of why he puts up with her is solved.

  Chapter Seven

  After dinner, I go to meet with the counselor, knocking on a door next to Mr. Atherton's office.

  “Come in!” a bright voice calls, prompting me to slide the door open and peek into a room overflowing with pillows and aromatherapy candles. The smell of the place takes a few seconds to get used to, and my eyes spend the time finding a dusky-skinned girl who is busy typing something into a computer in the corner.

  “Um... I was told to come here and meet Ms. Stanly?” I say to her when she flips her screen off, and looks up at me.

  Her thin-rimmed glasses reflect the candle light as she comes over to me, laughing. “That's me. But call me Becky.” She holds her hand out for me to shake, then motions me into the room so she can close the door.

  “Oh.” She looks like a student.

  “You were expecting someone older.” She smiles pleasantly. “Don't sweat it. This is my first job out of college, but I do have a degree.”

  She goes to an electric kettle sitting to one side of the room, the side without a fireplace. “Would you care for some tea?”

  “Sure.” Why not?

  She fills a teapot, then brings it and two cups over to a low table near the hearth. “Sit.” She waves to two plush chairs by the fire, then sits in one of them herself. “I wouldn't survive without my fire,” she tells me. “When I was first turned, people kept telling me I'd develop this super-metabolism, but I never did.” She shrugs. “Never put on the extra fifty pounds that would get me up to average bear weight either, so maybe I shouldn't complain.”

  “You're a bear?” I ask. I wouldn't have pegged her as one. She is at least fifty pounds too thin, several inches too short, and missing a certain attitude the other bears here all have. Maybe it's because she wasn't born a bear. Maybe the things about Mr. Atherton's personality I find so wolf-like were all there before he was attacked.

  If I could have smelled her, I guess I would have known. But all I can smell is ash and lavender and tea.

  “Yep. Spectacled Brown.” She grins impishly. “And a brown girl in spectacles too. I'd hoped I wouldn't need the glasses after I turned, but if anything I need them more now because I can't stand contacts anymore. And, sadly, animals can have vision problems too. You should see my bear form someday. It's a miracle if I go through an entire change without walking into a wall.”

  “When were you changed?” I ask her. I'm not sure if it's rude to ask, or to ask that quickly, but she seems to want to talk about it.

  Her eyes get a little cloudy, and her voice goes timid. “I was fourteen. Camping trip. I woke up in the middle of the night and tried to walk to this stream we were camped near, but I got lost. Some noises scared me into losing my footing. I tumbled down a hill, and smacked right into a werebear who was in labor. Her change had triggered it. Her mate never even thought about what he was doing, just swiped at me. Ripped huge gashes in my stomach...” Taking a deep breath, she rubs her arms. “He was so scared he'd killed me. He hasn't gotten over the guilt yet.”

  “But he wasn't executed?”

  She shakes her head. “No. You're not going to find a were who wouldn't have acted the exact same way in that spot. When your family is threatened, the rules go out the window.”

  “Makes sense,” I murmur. Then, louder, I ask, “What did your family think happened? I mean, the bears obviously didn't just leave you there like whoever attacked me did.”

  “No, they didn't. They took me into town in the morning and told the authorities they had found me mauled.”

  Nodding, I stick my nose further into her business. “Did they tell you what was going on? Were you aware of all of it?”

  Taking the lid off of the teapot, she fishes out the bag and puts it onto the tray. “I passed out for a while. When I came to, the male had changed back to human. He explained all of it and gave me the choice of being like them or dieing.” She smiles faintly. “Being a bear isn't so bad.”

  I pour a splash of cream into the cup of tea I'm handed. “Being whatever I am is better than being dead too,” I agree. Then I laugh. “I think.”

  “I can't imagine not knowing,” Becky admits, curling into her chair with her tea against her chest. “That must be very unsettling.”

  What an obvious lead. I'm tempted to leap up and shout, “I object, Your Honor! Leading the witness!” Instead, I shrug and take a sip of the tea. It's pretty good.

  Becky switches track. “I hear you've been spending time with the foxes.”

  I shrug again. “They're nice.”

  “They are,” she agrees with a smile. “Most of the people here are.”

  I think about dinner, the unsettling way Warren stared at me and the hostile glowers given to me by Simone. But I keep my mouth shut.

  Becky watches me closely. “My first week here, I was a mess. I didn't know anyone. People thought I should be hanging out with the bears, but most of them were polar bears and cousins. I was a different kind of bear and not family.”

  “Sounds hard,” I agree. “I'm okay though. No one knows what I am, so everyone's talking to me.”

  She nods and waits for more, but I drink my tea rather than give it to her.

  Trying to do her job, she refuses to just sit silently. “I heard you were expelled from your old school.”

  “Yeah,” I admit. “I got upset. Destroyed a book. They thought I did it with a knife, and, of course, having a weapon would be a major bad. Then when I didn't give it to them...” I shrug. “It was lame. But I sort of wanted out of there anyway.”

  “Is that related to why you were mad?” she asks, making me shake my head at myself.

  “Yeah, it was.” I put the now-empty tea cup down. “I don't want to talk about it, though. No offense or anything.”

  Smiling kindly, Becky inclines her head. “It's alright. I'm just trying to get a feel for you. I want to help you if you need it.”

  “I'm okay,” I tell her, meaning it. Maybe I'm still in shock or denial or something, but for someone who's changed species and moved hundreds of miles from home, I'm remarkably fine. “Everyone here is being really helpful.” Okay, slight lie. But the vast majority of people here have been great.

  “Well, any afternoon you do want to talk to me, I'm here. From one until about seven, later if you need me to be.” She gets up and grabs a card. “This is my cell. Call it whenever.”

  “Thanks.” I stick the paper in my pocket, feeling envious that she has a cell that works up here. Mine still doesn't get a signal. When I complained to Dad about it, he said he'd sort it out when he got up here.

  Becky looks uncertain as I start toward the door, but she lets me go without trying to stop me. The sound of Warren's voice approaching from the Great Room spurs me up the stairs without regards for what Becky must think hearing my sprint.

  Hiding in my room, I stare myself down in the mirror. “You're being ridiculous,” I tell me.

  Okay, so the guy has gifted me with no small amount of directed brooding. Has he done anything that actually seemed dangerous? No, he hasn't. He hasn't threatened me in any way, and everyone I've talked to about him is certain he wouldn't hurt me. Of course, they seem surprised to find him staring at me, too. But there's out of character, and then there's drastically out of character. It's one thing to stare. It's something else to... Well, I don't know what it is I'm afraid of him doing.

  A knock on the door makes me jump. “Get a grip, girl,” I mutter to myself, creeping up on the door, at least half-convinced I'm going to find Warren on the other side of it.

  Cracking the door just enough to peer around it, I laugh at myself.

 
; Sam gives me a funny look, then glances down at herself. “I'm pretty sure my clothes match.”

  “I'm not laughing at you,” I tell her, opening the door wider. “I'm laughing at me. What's up?”

  She seems to want to ask about the laughing, but after a long pause, she shrugs it off. “I think you need to watch The Cutting Edge,” she tells me.

  Leaning against the door, I frown slightly. “The Cutting Edge?”

  Enthusiastic, she bounces as she nods. “It will explain to you the difference between a hockey skate and a figure skate.”